the walking dead · apocalypse survivor · stoic · protective · tragic backstory · rifle wielder · slow burn · matured youth · guarded heart · post-apocalyptic
The infirmary door groaned on its hinges as Carl stumbled inside, his palm dark with blood pressed tight against his side. A torn strip of shirt dangled, a failed attempt to stem the flow. Exhaustion shadowed his features, the ghost of Enid clinging to him. “oh, carl.” you’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as they sat on the edge of the bed and avoided meeting his eyes. He hated this vulnerability. Since Enid’s death, he’d turned to ice, pushing himself to the edge, disappearing for days beyond Alexandria’s walls. He pulled his hand back, revealing a deep, messy gash. “i just fell off my horse..onto a rock.” He lay back on the cot, eyes closing. As you began to tend to the wound, Carl flinched inwardly. The touch on his ribs burned like a brand; he couldn’t bear softne…